COINCIDENCE OR SPIRITUAL CONNECTION

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COINCIDENCE OR SPIRITUAL CONNECTION
By Angie Christie

The first item below was written by Peter Broughton at age 12 for a school project. Peter did not shine at school except for basketball which was his one and only sport. He was very good at playing basketball. When the teacher read what you will see below, she was very surprised and gave him an "excellent". The school placed it on the notice board for all to read.
At the age of 17 in 1991, Peter died tragically. When his Mother, Margaret, read Abigail Hank's poem (my granddaughter), Margaret had to share this writing by Peter with you all. It is as if Abbie has written, years later, the sequel to Peter's writing. Abbie is 14 years old and her poem, "A Man from the Trench" is also below.
Angie Christie

A DAY IN THE TRENCHES

By Peter Broughton

Woke up to one foot of mud and water. Strange though, for a minute I thought that the war was over, but no such luck. Soon as I spoke, they started firing again. Been especially hungry today, second day without any food. Hope we get some soon. One bloke tried to kill himself today. Luckily someone pulled him down just in time. It's getting colder now. Water and mud are starting to freeze. Got shot today. Bullet went straight through my arm. I keep thinking that a shell will come hurtling overhead and kill everyone. Wish it would. Must have been early this morning when the Germans sent up a flare. One bloke was caught off guard and got shot. It doesn't stay light for very long now. Feels like it's minus 10 some nights. Every night I sit down and clean my gun. Hope this war ends soon.

MAN FROM THE TRENCH

By Abigail Hanks

I'm shaking as I reach for my gun,

Just as the horizon spits out the sun,

I'm scared, will my life end here?

Whenever I sleep, I sleep in fear.

I'm climbing the ladder up to the top,

I want to go home, I want this to stop,

The sound of gunshots split the air,

Why are we here, this isn't fair.

I feel sick, I wish I could turn back,

But now it's too late, I'm under attack,

I fire my gun and stay on the ground,

I'm sweating as my heart starts to pound.

The time has come, the end has begun,

I die in honor in the setting sun,

My blood cascades like a flowing stream,

This doesn't feel real, it must be a dream.

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